


here's to the kids.

by kxllington



Series: Pete And Patrick Do Mundane Couple-y Shit [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pete's poetry, Poetry, Tooth Rotting Fluff, idk what else to tag, what do you know yet another fic that takes place at night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxllington/pseuds/kxllington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete finds some old notebooks of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here's to the kids.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 2am lmao kill me
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The poem that has been inserted into this fanfic belongs to Pete Wentz. I don't claim ownership at all, I just stumbled upon it and got an idea. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

A lamp clicked on in the dark bedroom, casting shadows against the opposite walls. The bed dipped beside him, warmth radiating off the new addition to the mattress. Sleep let its clutches release from the singer's mind, and he rolled, brow furrowed.  
"...Pete?" Patrick asked, his voice thick with sleep. His eyelashes fluttered softly against his cheeks as he stirred, eyes fighting to stay closed against the harsh light above him. The bassist's fingers immediately weaved themselves into his hair, and he sighed softly, letting his head drop back down to his pillow.

"Yeah, 'Trick?" Pete asked softly. Finally blinking his bleary eyes open, the singer noticed his boyfriend was sitting up, a couple of old notebooks in his lap. Pete was looking down at him with adoration in his eyes, calloused fingers still carding through his hair. Patrick leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the older man's thigh.

"Why're you up? Y'shouldn't be..." Patrick brought his hand up beside his head, tracing little images into Pete's leg. The hand playing with his hair stilled for a moment, then resumed, gentler than before.

"I couldn't sleep, so I just decided to do a little walk around of the house. I found a couple of my old journals in the living room, so I wanted to look through them." Pete explained, twirling a strand of ginger hair around his finger. Patrick was silent for a moment, his sleep-laden mind attempting to take in the information.

"Oh...why di'n't you read them in the livin' room?" The younger man asked. Above him, Pete chuckled, sending low vibrations throughout his body. The bassist leaned down, craning his neck towards Patrick's temple and pressing a soft kiss there.

"You're so beautiful when you sleep, I could hardly stand being away from you any longer." Pete replied, whispering into Patrick's ear. The singer smiled softly, a faint blush staining his cheeks. He fell back against the pillows, rolling onto his back. He opened his eyes again, everything in the room painfully out of focus. The bassist shifted above him, so the younger man could actually see him. Patrick smiled up at him, resuming his abstract designs along Pete's knee.

"Read something to me." The younger man said. Pete's expression flickered with uncertainty.

"You sure? These are pretty old notebooks, 'Trick, they're chalk full of depressing stuff." The bassist warned. Eyelids already drooping once again, Patrick just shrugged.

"I don't care. I like your writing, no matter how sad it is." He said distantly, fingers tracing hearts into the older man's leg. Nodding, Pete began flipping through a notebook in his lap, searching for something good. A long poem stuck out among the rest. Clearing his throat, the bassist switched the notebook into one hand, threading the other back into Patrick's hair.

" _Here's to the kids_." He began. Recognition flashed briefly over Patrick's face, and Pete smiled faintly, focusing.

" _The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party._  
_Here's to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. Here's to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars._  
_Here's to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool._  
_Here's to the kids who listened to Fall Out Boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV...and blame MTV for ruining their life._ "

Patrick had stopped drawing on Pete's knee, hand falling limp to the comforter as he listened. His eyes weren't closed, they were staring up at the bassist, warm and kind. Pete glanced down briefly, earning a soft smile of encouragement.

" _Here's to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts._  
_Here's to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush._  
_Here's to the kids who hum "A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me" when they're stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night._  
_Here's to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn't even know they existed._  
_Here's to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn't feel so alone after doing so._  
_Here's to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s)._  
_Here's to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don't care._  
_Here's to the kids who speak their mind._  
_Here's to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep._  
_Here's to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do._  
_Here's to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that._  
_Here's to the kids_."

Pete paused for a moment, staring down at the weathered pages between his fingers. Brow furrowing slightly, Patrick tapped his shin.

"Why'd you stop?" The younger man asked, innocently. Pete sighed, eyes searching the room absently.

"I forgot about this last part is kinda sad—"

"Pete, I already said I don't care if it's sad. Your writing is brilliant, the subject matter doesn't matter to me. I love it anyway." Scanning his boyfriend's eyes, Pete only found love and sincerity there. Nodding once more, he continued.

" _This one's not for the kids,_  
_who always get what they want_ ,  
_But for the ones who never had it at all._  
_It's not for the ones who never got caught,_  
_But for the ones who always try and fall._  
_This one's for the kids who didn't make it,_  
_We were the kids who never made it._  
_The Overcast Girls and the Underdog Boys._  
_Not for the kids who had all their joys._  
_This one's for the kids who never faked it._  
_We're the kids who didn't make it._  
_They say "Breaking hearts is what we do best,"_  
_And, "We'll make your heart be ripped of your chest"_  
_The only heart that I broke was mine,_  
_When I got My Hopes up too too high._  
_We were the kids who didn't make it._  
_We are the kids who never made it._ ”

Patrick's eyes had drifted closed as Pete had been reading, breath evening out. Smirking fondly down at the younger man, Pete gathered the notebooks and set them on the bedside table. He clicked off the lamp and shimmied under the covers, curling up alongside his boyfriend and soaking up his body heat. The bassist cushioned his head against Patrick's chest, splaying an arm over his soft waist. Patrick's arm came up and curled around his back, hand resting snugly against the elastic of his boxers.

"You made it alright, Underdog Boy..." Patrick whispered, pressing his face into Pete's hair. The bassist laughed lightly, lifting his face from where it laid to meet the singer's eyes.

"I guess I did." He replied, meeting the younger man halfway for a gentle kiss.


End file.
